


Hey, You Dropped Something

by Alatariel_Galadriel



Category: Newsies, Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Flirting, Humor, M/M, race has no impulse control, they swear a lot sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 21:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16751824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alatariel_Galadriel/pseuds/Alatariel_Galadriel
Summary: Race sees a hot guy at the mall and attempts to get his number. Featuring Race’s lack of a filter/impulse control and a mildly confused but definitely amused Spot.





	Hey, You Dropped Something

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So instead of working on actual work that needs to be done, I wrote this. Oops.  
> Race's pickup line is from Jacksfilms on Youtube.

Race was walking through the mall when he saw him. The Hot Guy. He was a couple of yards in front of him, leaning against a wall and scrolling on his phone. There was some other dude, probably a friend, talking at the hot one, but Hot Guy was completely ignoring him. 

Race stopped and studied the dude for a couple seconds. He was short, but damn, he was muscular. He had a chiseled jawline, striking cheekbones, smoldering eyes, the whole nine yards. It was totally unfair that someone could be _that_ attractive. 

Race wanted his number. Race also didn’t have the best impulse control, running up to the dude without a second thought. 

“Hey, hey, dude!” Race tapped the guy’s shoulder. The guy turned to face him, and holy hell, he was even hotter up close, with smoldering eyes and freckles. He had _freckles_ , whole constellations of them strewn over his nose and cheeks. Also, a serious case of resting bitch face, but damn, this man was out of his league. 

Hot Guy raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Ya dropped something.” 

Hot Guy glanced around at the ground, hands instinctively patting his pockets. 

“What?” He asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Race’s lips twitched as he struggled to keep a straight (ha) face. 

“Your standards,” he stuck out his hand, “Hi, I’m Race.” He flashed a grin. 

The guy stared at Race’s outstretched hand, nonplussed. A couple of beats later, just as Race was lowering his hand, the guy’s friend (god, Race hoped he was just a friend) doubled over with laughter. 

Hot Guy turned and gave his friend a death stare, but his friend ignored him. He then turned it on Race, who quickly stepped back, because Hot Guy had serious muscles and Race didn’t actually want to die today. 

“What do ya think you’s doing?” Hot Guy (Race definitely needed a better name for him) growled. 

Race shot him his best puppy eyes, making sure to go completely overboard. 

“My best.” He said, as pathetically as possible. He was pretty sure he ruined the effect, though, since he almost immediately broke back into a smile. 

Hot Guy snorted (yes!), and Friend-Dude, who had just caught his breath, burst back into laughter. 

“Gotta say, never heard that one before,” he said, shaking Race’s hand. “I’m Spot.” 

Race raised his eyebrows. Was this dude being serious? 

“And I’ve never heard that one before. Anyone ever told ya Spot’s s a weird name?” 

“Your name is _Race,_ ” Spot retorted. “You’ve got no room to talk.” 

He looked sort of pissed, but he had looked varying levels of pissed since Race first saw him, so Race chose to believe that was just his face. 

Race also chose to ignore Spot’s friend, who was still laughing his ass off. 

“It’s short for Racetrack.” Race explained. 

“And yet, somehow, you just made it weirder. Congratulations. “Spot deadpanned, but his eyes were glittering, so he was probably amused. 

Spot’s friend wheezed. 

“Is he okay?” Race asked, jerking his chin at the friend-dude. 

Spot didn’t even bother to look, responding, “He’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Race glanced at Friend-Dude, “He sounds like he’s struggling.” 

“That-that was priceless!” Friend-Dude choked out. Spot smacked him. 

“If he can talk, he can breathe. Jack’s just an asshole.” 

“Spot’s an even bigger one,” Jack half-whined, rubbing his arm where Spot had hit him. 

“What a coincidence!” Race chirped, “I’ve been told I’m an asshole, too! I’ve heard that similarities make people more compatible, Spotty, so things are looking up for us.” 

Spot’s lips twitched. 

“Have you ever been told you’s a smart-ass, Racer?” He asked. 

Race widened his eyes, blinking innocently. 

“Who, me? Never!” 

Spot looked him up and down. 

“You’s got some guts, Racer, and you’s clever. Got a phone?” Spot asked. 

Race grinned, reciting his number for Spot to type in. Once Spot finished, Race pulled out his phone. 

“How ‘bout you, Spotty, you got a phone?” Race asked. 

“Nah,” Spotty drawled, checking the time, “But I am late. See ya around, Racer.” 

With that, he turned walked away, dragging a protesting Jack behind him. 

“Asshole!” Race called after him, smiling despite himself. 

A few minutes later, his phone pinged. 

_Unknown Number: Hey smart-ass, you like Italian?_

Race grinned. 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos or comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
